Of Gold Dresses and Bomb Collars
by bushlaboo
Summary: Drabble that takes place during 1.15 (Dodger), Oliver deals with an overabundance of feelings and a madman with his finger on the trigger.


_**Of Gold Dresses and Bomb Collars**_

In a matter of days she had inspired a plethora of emotions; one tiny blonde had elicited annoyance, contrition, amusement, surprise (he was having trouble admitting to lust though he knew he'd never forget how she looked in that short, gold dress), fear that had rolled into anger and protective determination. Oliver wasn't used to feeling so much, or more accurately to admitting to himself any feelings that deterred him from his mission. Diggle had warned him that pulling Felicity into his crusade would place her in danger and he assured his friend that they would be able to protect her. Of course, his intention was to keep her behind her monitors and not allow her into the field.

 _The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry_.

Oliver knew that all too well, he'd been living it out the last five years, and still he'd been confident in his and Dig's ability to protect her. When he saw the bomb collar around her neck he'd froze in disbelief, only for second, but seeing Dig move towards her as she backed away got him moving. There was no time to dwell on his panicky fear with the Dodger out there having the ability to end Felicity's life at the push of a button. His hands had curled when she begged, "Get away from me! If this thing blows …"

He hadn't been able to contemplate that happening. Felicity's safety was his responsibility, _she_ was his responsibility, and had been since he had sought out her assistance a second time. He'd actually growled at her, "Not going to happen."

Leaving her with Dig to track the Dodger down had made his stomach knot. He wanted to stay, as if being in his presence would somehow protect her, but defusing complex bombs was not his forte. Doing whatever was necessary to complete the mission was another story, so getting Felicity to concentrate and lead him to the Dodger via the GPS they planted was the only thing he could do. Oliver did his best to block out the fear he heard in her voice as she directed him to the Dodger's location as letting it distract him would only endanger her more.

His frustration had grown with every second he been in pursuit and when the car crashed he hadn't known whether to be relieved or worried. When he made out the hushed conversation between Felicity and Dig over the blood rushing in his ears he knew the detonator hadn't been triggered. The tentative relief he felt washed away as he watched the Dodger crawl from his wrecked vehicle. He did, however, find himself grateful for the helmet he wore, not just because it protected his identity, but because the man could not see the fury written across his face. With it coursing through him, Oliver didn't think he could mask his intentions and if the Dodger could anticipate his actions it could mean the difference between Felicity living or dying. And she was _**not**_ going to die tonight.

"Don't do anything stupid," the accented voice warned with way too much confidence. "I had the foresight to collar up a particularly inquisitive blonde. I assume she's a friend of yours. Touch one hair on my head and she loses hers." Each word the Brit uttered made him seethe, but his arrogant taunt, "You've got quite the choice to make don't you?" had him seeing red. Oliver desperately wanted to pound his fists into the man and he regretted that such a physical assault was not a possibility as he would not take any action that would place Felicity in further peril.

He did take solace in the fact that he was about to show the Dodger that he did not have the upper hand like he assumed. "Not this time," he said moving swiftly, fingering the small hidden arrow and flinging it expertly at the man's arm. "Your median nerve has been severed. You couldn't push that button if you tried," he said, wrenching the remote detonator from the man's hand and disengaging the collar.

Over the Bluetooth connection he heard Felicity's breathy, "Oh thank god." The worst of the tension and rage he'd been feeling ebbed knowing that she was safe.

"Why are you doing this?" the Dodger asked. "I'm exactly like you." That assessment brought his fury back full force; it was almost enough to distract him from the slight movement of the man's other hand. Almost. "I only steal from the rich."

When the Dodger made his move to taser him, Oliver easily pulled the weapon from his grasp and turned it on him. He felt some satisfaction watching the jolt go through him before he dropped to the ground, though he knew pummeling him with his hands would be the only thing that would work out his residual aggression. Since he couldn't do that, he flipped up the helmet visor and retorted, "I'm not Robin Hood."

Felicity chuckled over their open line. "No you're not, but tonight you're most definitely _my_ hero."


End file.
